Chapter 22
22
DYLAN
Smoke from the grill has sneaked into the house and clings to the night air as we all file in from the backyard after having a cozy dinner under the stars. With five of us camping at my parents’, it’s a long line to use the spare bathroom upstairs. But eventually, the house falls silent, and only Hunter and I are left. We head down to the basement together. She’s quiet, and so am I. The echo of our footsteps down the narrow stairs mingles with the buzz of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.
The basement isn’t fancy, but it’s comfy. The ancient sagging couch takes up most of the space, especially now that my mom has pulled out the mattress underneath the seat and made the bed. My ancient gaming console, on which Tristan and I have played infinite games, has been pushed to one side together with the big, old TV.
The walls are a muted beige, dotted with faded family photos, and shelves filled with board games that, thanks to my mom’s obsessive tidying, don’t have a flake of dust on them. Behind the meticulously organized boxes of holiday decorations and extra toiletries, cleaning supplies, light bulbs, and other household essentials hides Dad’s not-so-secret stash of junk food. A large, industrial dehumidifier hums in the corner, valiantly chugging to combat the inherent dampness.
Hunter and I stand on opposite sides of the bed, an awkward tension hanging between us. She’s wearing a scant pair of pink cotton shorts and a white tank top. My mouth goes dry as I take her in. The PJ bottoms hug her hips and thighs, leaving her legs almost completely bare. And the thin tank top clings to her curves, hinting at the lacy pink bra underneath. It’s a small mercy that she kept her bra on, but not much of one. The delicate straps peeking out from under the tank top tease me, drawing my eyes to her smooth shoulders.
I try my best not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. My gaze travels down her slender arms to her navel, where, under the thin fabric, the outline of that damned belly button stud is unmistakable.
“You’re stuck with me again,” I joke to ease the strange tension.
Hunter’s darker-than-night eyes meet mine, inscrutable and alluring. After a long moment, the corners of her full lips twitch. “Could be worse,” she says as a shadow of something unreadable swirls in her dark gaze, setting my pulse racing.
I chuckle nervously and rub the back of my neck. “Wow, being classified as ‘not the worst’ is doing wonders for my ego.”
Hunter rolls her eyes, but her smile grows. “Don’t let it go to your head, Thompson.”
She climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and the old springs squeaking in protest. I join her, causing even more creaks. Every slight movement elicits a symphony of metallic whines, making it impossible to shift without announcing it to the entire house.
I experimentally wiggle my hips, and the bed lets out a loud groan.
Hunter’s eyes go wide, and she covers her face with both hands, laughing. “Dylan, stop.” She peeks at me through her fingers. “If anyone’s upstairs, they’re going to think we’re… you know.” Her voice trails off, her cheeks blooming with color as she drops her hands, looking both mortified and amused.
A slow grin spreads across my face and, instead of heeding her warning, I bounce rhythmically, making the springs protest even louder. “That we’re testing the structural integrity of this fine piece of furniture?”
The sound is comically obscene, like a cheesy soundtrack from a low-budget porno.
Hunter buries her face into the pillow, her long hair flopping down to hide her burning cheeks.
“Stop.” She sounds mortified but her shoulders are shaking with the effort to contain her laughter.
I do a few more bounces and settle. In the quiet, Hunter lifts half her face, one eye spying me. Her hair is still falling across it, and I’m once again hit with the powerful urge to tuck those silky strands behind her ear, to tip her chin up and taste her smiling lips…
No. Nope. I can’t think like that. Even if the relationship has run its course, I’m still technically with Olivia. I might’ve decided to break it off with her, but until I do it, I won’t cross that line. I’m not that kind of guy. And I’m not even positive Hunter would want me to. That she shares even a fraction of the restlessness I can’t escape since moving in with her. She’s probably more sensible than me and has “dating your roommate” double-underlined in red in her not-to-do list. As should I.
“Alright, alright, I’ll behave.”
I flop back against the pillows with an exaggerated sigh—and the couch promptly protests again.
We both start laughing, causing even more squeaks. Gradually, our laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and we settle down to get some sleep. I flip off the lights, plunging the basement into thick darkness punctuated only by the faint moonlight glow filtering in through the narrow hopper windows. The shadows turn the room smaller, more intimate.
I want so badly to tell Hunter about my decision to end things with Olivia—test how she’d react. But I bite my tongue. It wouldn’t be right, not yet. First, I need to have that difficult conversation with Liv.
Until then, I’ll have to content myself with stolen glances at the stunning woman lying next to me, close enough to touch but still maddeningly off-limits. I know this weekend is going to be sweet torture, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because when I’m with Hunter, everything feels… right. Like this is where I’m meant to be.
Even if, for now, “right” means platonically sharing the world’s squeakiest sofa bed. A closeness that borders on agony.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to ignore the heat radiating off Hunter’s skin, the subtle scent of her shampoo wafting over to me.
“Night, Thompson,” she murmurs, her voice already thick with impending sleep.
“Night, Brolin.” The words catch in my throat.
I never knew how much effort it took to keep still. Beside me, Hunter vibrates with the same effort. After a while, I dare to turn my head and peek at her. The moon filtering through the windows casts everything in a silvery glow, including the planes of Hunter’s face. She looks ethereal, too beautiful to be real. But she’s not sleeping either; her posture is too rigid. I swallow hard and force myself to look away.
Minutes tick by, but sleep remains elusive. The basement is stifling, the air heavy despite the dehumidifier. We don’t have air conditioning down here, and while the temperature is several degrees lower than the main house, the natural cooling is not enough to fend off the oppressive July heat. I toss and turn to find a cool spot on the sheets. Beside me, Hunter does the same, our movements making the springs creak in protest.
“Sorry,” she whispers, sounding more amused than contrite.
I chuckle. “If this bed had a voice, I bet it’d be saying, ‘Can you two take this somewhere else?’”
“Like the floor? I could take it up on that offer.”
Silence descends again, but it’s more alert than comfortable now. I’m hyper-aware of every breath she takes, every rustle of the sheets. It’s maddening and exhilarating all at once.
Unable to stand it any longer, I sit up. “I’m gonna open the windows.” I hop off the couch. “See if it gets better.”
It does. The night air is blessedly cool against my sweaty face as I crack open all the hopper windows. Mercifully, a breeze coming in from the ocean makes the heat more bearable.
I crawl back into bed, careful not to jostle her. Hunter smiles up at me and gives me a double thumbs-up. “Great problem-solving skills, Thompson.”
I grin. “I have my moments.”
If only she knew the problem I want to solve is how to keep my hands off her for the rest of this unbearably sultry night—and possibly all the nights after.
She shifts, the thin sheet sliding down her torso. Soon, she stills, her breathing becoming even. Asleep, I think, with a pang of something dangerously close to longing.
Closing my eyes, I will myself to drift off to thoughts of anything but the incredible woman beside me.
Eventually, mercifully, I do.
* * *
I’m in the shower, steam billowing around me. The water sluices over my skin, hot and perfect. But not as perfect as the woman in my arms.
Hunter presses against me, all soft curves and slick skin. She tilts her face up to mine, her eyes dark with want, and I lower my head to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She opens for me instantly, igniting a fire low in my belly.
My hands skim down her sides, over the flare of her hips, to grip her thighs. I hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist, a guttural moan escaping her as I press her back against the cool tiles.
“Dylan,” she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips undoes me. I need to be closer, to taste every inch of her.
I lean in, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, reveling in the little gasps and sighs I draw from her. Lower, lower, until I reach the gentle swell of her breast. She arches into me, a wordless plea for more.
Smiling against her skin, I oblige. She writhes in my arms, nails digging deliciously into my shoulders.
Lost in sensation, it takes me a second to realize the water pelting my face is no longer warm, but icy cold. Startled, my eyes fly open—and I’m back in the basement, panting, wet, and disoriented. Water rains down on me from somewhere.
For one confused moment, I think the house must be on fire and the ceiling sprinklers have gone off. My heart races as I sit up, blinking rapidly to clear my vision.
But as my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I turn toward the open windows where the water keeps gushing in. The garden sprinklers must’ve come on during the night and the spray is catching the moonlight and sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds as it arcs through the openings, soaking everything in its path.
Beside me, Hunter stirs, sputtering. “What the hell?” She pushes sodden hair out of her face, blinking up at the windows in groggy confusion. With her hair wet and plastered to her forehead, she looks too much like the dream I was having.
Thankfully, the sprinklers are gracing me with a literal cold shower, and my brain cools quickly enough from the fantasy of Hunter in my arms and jolts me into action. I vault over the couch and over a startled, still half-asleep Hunter to get to the hoppers.
The mattress squishes under my weight as I leap, water splattering against my legs. I fumble with the windows, my hands slipping on the wet handles, and snarl curses at the waterfall until I slam all of them shut.
I push the wet hair away from my forehead. Water drips from it, running in rivulets down my face and neck.
As I turn, I find Hunter standing awkwardly, bathed in moonlight, her clothes soaked through and clinging even more to her body than before. The sight makes it hard for my lungs to hold on to air. The moonlight turns the water droplets on her skin into a glistening sheen, highlighting the dip of her collarbone, and the swell of her breasts.
She’s an ethereal vision, wet and shimmering, and a jolt of longing shoots through me so powerful, it almost brings me to my knees. The image of her like this will stay with me forever, haunting me to my grave.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
We stand there, dripping and staring at each other, still shocked. Then, out of nowhere, Hunter starts to laugh. It’s a sweet, infectious sound that lands straight in my gut, wrapping tight. She playfully shoves my shoulder. “Are you always this much trouble?”
I start laughing with her; the whole situation is so bizarre, it’s surreal. Here we are, soaked to the bone, shivering in the middle of the night, stuck in my parents’ basement together.
As our laughter dies down, Hunter wraps her arms around herself, still shuddering. She glances at her suitcase, which she unfortunately left open right under the windows. The contents are drenched, a soggy mess of clothes and books, the once-crisp pages now crumpled and limp.
“Oh no,” she groans, gingerly picking up a waterlogged novel. “I was looking forward to reading this.”
My heart twists at the disappointment in her voice. I hate seeing her upset, even over something as small as a ruined book. I want to fix it, to make everything better for her.
By some stroke of luck, my suitcase ended up on the far side of the room, safe from the sprinkler’s wrath. I grab one of my basketball shirts. “Here.” I hold it out to her. “It’s dry, at least.”
“Thanks,” Hunter says, her voice hoarse. “Can you please close your eyes while I change?”
I nod and shut my eyes tight as I hear the rustling of fabric. Wet clothes smack against the hardwood floor and my imagination spirals, filling in the vivid details I can’t see. The snap of her bra unclasping nearly undoes me.
Each shuffle and whisper of movement send electric currents through my body. Knowing that Hunter is mere feet away, wearing only damp panties, makes me unhinged. Raw nerve endings sizzle and my brain synapses misfire in all directions. I squeeze my eyes even tighter against the overwhelming temptation to peek.
Behind my eyelids, tantalizing images of Hunter flash and meld with memories of my dreams, the real and imagined blurring together. An eternity passes before her voice breaks the charged silence.
“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
I blink and the sight before me is even more devastating than my fantasies.
She’s haloed in the faint light filtering in from the windows, my old basketball shirt swallowing her. Her damp hair is finger-combed away from her face, her skin dewy and fresh. She looks soft, vulnerable. Utterly unattainable.
“Thanks.” Her eyes crinkle with a smile. “Much better now. Your shirt might be a keeper. It’s super comfy.”
She does a little twirl, and I tighten my fists. I want to pull her to me, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in. I want to press her body against mine, to explore every curve and hollow…
With a hard mental push, I shove the thought away and muster a smile. “It looks good on you. Better than it ever did on me.”
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I don’t know about that. I bet you looked pretty good in your basketball days.”
“Unfortunately, those days are gone,” I joke, falling into the easy banter that has always defined our relationship.
“Fishing for a compliment? Because I won’t tell you that you still look more fit than any guy I know… even the under thirty…”
I smile. “As long as you won’t tell me, my ego will be kept in check.”
I swallow against the constriction in my throat, barely resisting the primal urge to close the distance between us. To wrap her in my arms and never let go.
Seeing her in my clothes, surrounded by my scent, sends a possessive thrill through me. I want to see her in nothing but my shirt, the fabric skimming her thighs, her hair mussed from my fingers…
I choke back the inappropriate thoughts. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or are we done for the night?”
Hunter tentatively touches the couch, her fingers sinking into the damp cushions. “It’s still pretty wet. We can’t sleep on it.”
I nod dumbly and glance at my watch. “It’s almost five. How about we surprise everyone with homemade brownies for breakfast?”
Her face lights up, a grin tugging at her lips. “If your brownies are as good as your chocolate chip cookies, I’m totally down. I need to… uh… just check something real quick.”
Hunter rummages through her suitcase, searching for dry underwear, I realize with horror. She tries to be discreet, but I catch a tantalizing glimpse of lace peeking out from her fingers. My breath hitches.
She stands, hiding her hands behind her back. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She leaves me to change out of my own soaked clothes.
As she climbs the stairs, I stare at her legs, transfixed by the smooth expanse of skin disappearing under the hem of my shirt. Once she’s out of sight, I drag a hand down my face, frustrated and overwhelmed.
The image of Hunter in my shirt, her damp hair clinging to her neck, is seared into my brain. And the rustle of fabric as she undressed echoes in my head, stoking the fire burning under my skin.
I change and try to focus on something else, needing a minute before I join her in the kitchen. I grab a towel from the laundry room to mop up the puddles on the floor. But my mind keeps wandering, imagining Hunter peeling off her wet clothes, exposing inch after tantalizing inch of smooth skin…
“Get it together, man,” I mutter to myself, wringing out the soaked towel with more force than necessary.
I’m tired, I reason. It’s been a long day, and the unexpected wake-up call has me all out of sorts.
But like never before, I desperately wish I were more of a jerk, that I’d broken things off with Olivia before this trip, funeral or not. The timing couldn’t be worse, but every fiber of my being yearns to test the waters with Hunter, consequences and complications be damned.